


Break the lock if it don't fit

by mermaidcashton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angry Sex, Competition, Kink Meme, M/M, Teenage One Direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidcashton/pseuds/mermaidcashton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The differences between this situation and the extremely similar one he had found himself in a few hours previously were obvious, and mainly showing as the surging force he had been pushed with, the flood of pain currently spreading up and down his spine and the aggressive, dominating way Zayn had him pinned this time.</p><p>Oh, and this morning Zayn hadn’t had a black eye and an expression that suggested he planned on giving Harry one to match, either.</p><p>Or a hard on, Harry muses. He thinks he would have noticed.'</p><p>---</p><p>Written in 2012 for a 1d kink meme for the following prompt:<br/>'Harry/Zayn, Hogwarts AU. Harry is on Gryffindor's quidditch team, Zayn is on Slytherin's. They beat the shit out of each other on the pitch, and have angry sex in the locker room afterwards, kissing each other's bruises. </p><p>Preferably, they are not actual enemies, just competitive, but I am not picky.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break the lock if it don't fit

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Florence & the Machine's 'Kiss with a Fist'.
> 
> I haven't written since I wrote this in 2012, but I am trying to get back on the horse so decided to make an ao3, post this and get started. :)
> 
> All feedback/comments are welcome, and my tumblr is lanadelpayno.tumblr.com - I would find any prompts/requests for fic/blurbs etc really helpful, so ask away! :D

Harry feels all the breath rush from his lungs as his back slams against the ancient stones, eyes bright with surprise that melts into something else as his attacker leans in with a smirk already firmly in place. 

“Ready for this, Styles?” 

Zayn was feeling pretty pleased with himself, having tracked the other boy from the Great Hall for two whole floors and three different corridors without magic, and without being detected – even when he’d nearly walked into a suit of armour that had definitely not been there yesterday. 

The corridor he had chosen as the place to pin the brunette to the wall in was only one off from one of the main Hogwarts staircases, and even with an hour still to go before the whistle, the teenagers could hear the excited hum of their classmates.  
Some were already beginning to trickle down the ornate stairs to the Quidditch pitch – they were ready for the violent and electric grudge match Gryffindor V Slytherin always was.

Harry licks his lips carefully, considering his response while meeting Zayn’s challenging gaze. 

“Ready for me to spank you in front of the whole school? I’d say so.”

Zayn breaks into a grin, cocking his head to the side in mock-thought as he casually raises his knee ever so slightly higher in between the boy’s legs. 

“That’s funny, Harry – as I recall, it’s me that does the spanking.”

“Not on the Quidditch pitch, Malik. You’re going down.”

The brunette rolls his eyes as he straightens his body up, mildly surprised that the shorter-but-stronger boy lets his arms drop from loosely pinning him, matching his suggestive grin as he takes a step past Zayn and gains a steely sheen to his eyes.

“And don’t even think about making a sex joke about that, mate - maybe use the time before the match more wisely? By, oh, I don’t know – learning how to play Quidditch?” 

Zayn flops back against the now vacant wall as his companion takes another step backwards, towards his easiest route to Gryffindor Tower. 

“Awh, that’s such a cute attempt at smack talk, babe. We both know I’m the best Chaser in the school, and you should really accept my lessons. I’m sure after you lose,” Zayn paused, allowing himself to enjoy the effect the emphasis placed on Harry’s least favourite word had had on the younger boy’s face before continuing. “You’ll change your mind on that front. You’ll be begging me to give you some pointers.” 

Harry hated to lose, and it took all his effort to not break into his most childish scowl at his friend’s words. He wasn’t going to lose, he had been training so hard – all the Gryffindor team had – and he was going to wipe the smug smile off Zayn’s face on the Quidditch pitch. 

‘We’re going to destroy them, and I’m going to destroy him’, Harry told himself, trying to ignore his brain, or perhaps something lower adding ‘and then maybe he’ll destroy me...’ 

He straightened up with as much dignity as he could muster with the word ‘lose’ still ringing in his ears, and locked his fiery gaze with the infuriatingly cool, intense stare Zayn had been offering him since he’d shoved him into the wall.

“I really doubt that I’ll be begging you for anything at all, Zayn. Run along now, and prepare your best valiant loser face – you’ll need it about, oh, twenty minutes after the match starts.” 

Harry swore internally when Zayn’s demeanour stayed exactly the same as he pushed himself away from the wall casually and sauntered forward a little, still bloody smiling.  
Zayn was so hard to wind up, whereas all he had to do was mention the ‘lo*e’ word (either of them) and he had Harry on the back foot, and he knew it. 

Zayn ran his hand through this jet black hair and half shrugged as he turned around to stroll off down the corridor, calling out over his shoulder as he went. 

“Well we’ll know who’s right soon enough, eh gorgeous? See you on the pitch.”

___

Harry propped his broomstick against the wall, grateful for the empty silence of the Gryffindor changing room; he had been dreading the possibility of Louis and Niall or any of his team mates waiting for him to return from his post-match disappearance. 

Thankfully, his casual clothes were the only ones left on a peg, his shoes tucked messily under the bench beneath. 

Harry ran a frustrated hand through his damp hair as he collapsed onto the wood, wincing when his fingers brushed over a cut on his scalp. 

‘Plenty more where that came from.’ He thought to himself wryly, breathing through the pain of leaning down to unlace and remove his Quidditch shoes. 

These shoes weren’t as lucky as the ones peering out from beneath the battered teenager, and the thump of them hitting the floor some metres away echoed around the room – it didn’t make Harry feel any better. 

Chucking his shin pads and sodden socks so far that they rained into the opposite wall didn’t, either. 

“Temper, temper.” 

Zayn had said that to him before, but only in a teasing tone that did things to Harry that were very different than what the tight, angry voice Zayn was using now were doing to him.

His long, aimless walk around the edges of the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake had taken the edge off of Harry’s fury at losing (losing at Quidditch, losing to Slytherin, losing to Zayn), but as soon as he registered the darker boy standing in the arch that led to the shower room, Harry could feel his entire body tightening as he got to his feet. 

“What the fuck are you playing at, you-”  
“Where have you been?” 

Zayn broke in, his jaw tight and determined underneath the scrape on his chin. He was also still in this Quidditch robes, despite the match having finished more than an hour ago. 

Harry thought that Zayn looked as angry as he felt, which only made him angrier. 

“I went for a walk, not that it’s any of your fucking business. How long have you been in here? Why haven’t you showered and changed?”

“I was in my team’s changing room until your team left then I came in here to wait for you. And I was too wound up to fuck around getting changed and stuff.” 

Harry pulled a face as he began walking slightly gingerly towards the elder, pulling roughly at the strings on his scarlet robes as he went.  
“You’re wound up?”  
“Yes, I’m wound up!” Zayn shot back, eyes flashing. 

“Why the fuck are you angry? You won.”  
Harry stopped an inch from Zayn, forcing the last word of his sentence into the other’s furious face.

Zayn made a dismissive noise deep in his throat, waving a swollen hand impatiently.  
“I didn’t win! Slytherin won, I only scored twice, and you scored six times and then...”

‘Ah. Of course’, Harry thought, a glimmer of smugness surfacing in his rage. That was why Zayn was as mad as he was.  
“Say it.”

A few beats of silence, neither boy breaking the smouldering stare they’d been locked in since Zayn had revealed his presence.

“Go on, say it.” Harry prompted, leaning mockingly into the shorter boy’s face and enjoying every second. 

Zayn’s mouth moved wordlessly a few times before he managed to break into speech.  
“You knocked me off my broom, you shit!” 

Harry took a moment to revel in the equally incredulous and furious echo that resounded around them, smirking as he stepped neatly around Zayn and began heading towards the showers.  
“Ah yes, so I did. Happy landing?” 

Harry felt himself stumble from the grab to his bicep before he fully felt the sharp grasp of Zayn’s fingers digging into the near-identical marks the Slytherin had left on him hours previously at 300ft in the air. 

Every bit of the brunette’s breath rushed out of him as he was spun and slammed into the tiled wall of the nearest shower with enough force to hurt him even if he wasn’t already covered head to toe in Quidditch injuries, mostly courtesy of the boy pushing him.

Harry snarled with pain as his battered back connected with the tiles, his neck jarring with the effort to prevent his head going the same way. 

As he panted in an effort to regain his breath, Harry’s brain was whirring in overload at the different emotions and sensations rushing through his body as he met Zayn’s enraged gaze. 

Harry was angry too; angry from losing, angry about all his cuts and bruises, angry about being thrown into a wall, but as he wriggled under the intensity of Zayn’s fury, he was finding it harder and harder to hold onto at the front of his mind.

The differences between this situation and the extremely similar one he had found himself in a few hours previously were obvious, and mainly showing as the surging force he had been pushed with, the flood of pain currently spreading up and down his spine and the aggressive, dominating way Zayn had him pinned this time. 

Oh, and this morning Zayn hadn’t had a black eye and an expression that suggested he planned on giving Harry one to match, either. 

Or a hard on, Harry muses. He thinks he would have noticed. 

Zayn shuddered and let out a long hiss as Harry’s fingertips connected with his skin, running softly down and around the deep purple bruise covering his left eye, but said nothing.

Harry didn’t fail to notice the sharp jerk of the other’s cock, but also said nothing – registering it silently as he let his vision drag over every part of Zayn’s body that was visible, searching for the marks he’d left in the match.  
“Harry...”

Zayn broke the silence with his warning whisper, attracting Harry’s attention back to his face.

The brunette realised absently he was still trailing his fingers over the bruises and cuts on Zayn’s face and allowed them to lower slowly, staring into Zayn’s stormy gaze as he raised his other hand to assist the first in untying the strings on the front of Zayn’s Quidditch robes.

Zayn’s breath hitched, his body pressing into Harry and the wall more insistently before quickly shrugging off the emerald robes, tugging at the laces on Harry’s and yanking the robes roughly off of him. Before he could resume pinning him, Harry had slid out to the side and ducked straight into the nearest shower without looking back – he knew he would be followed.

Harry had wondered before, alone in his dormitory, about Zayn, about himself, about them.

He’d always been competitive, always hated to lose – so, Zayn told him, had he. Any activity they both undertook at Hogwarts (or at home for holidays – they were always sending each other taunting owls about anything that could be viewed as a victory) was a competition, from who could make a potion better or master a spell fastest, to who could run around Hogwarts the fastest, and who could get better revenge on Liam after he beat them both.

That all seemed like friend stuff, boy stuff, Harry reckoned – all perfectly ordinary.

But Louis getting a higher mark than him in Charms or Niall out-eating him at a feast didn’t feel the same as Zayn beating him did. Beating them at things didn’t even feel the same, and in either case, had definitely never resulted in them ending up in bed together (or a classroom, toilet, tree in the Forbidden Forest – Harry had also realised they rarely made it to a bed).

Being in competition with Zayn just felt different, and he couldn’t get enough of the electric charge it sent running through his body whether he won or lost.

And nothing was better than competing on the Quidditch pitch, when they could really go all out. Harry could still remember the heat after the first match they played against each other, and they hadn’t given each other anywhere near as many physical souvenirs.

Harry smiled to himself softly at the memory, breathing strategically as he stretched and pulled himself out of his Gryffindor jumper, throwing it at the feet of the similarly topless boy now blocking the door way of the cubicle.

Sometimes he thought he had given up on analysing what was between the two of them, but he always found himself back at the start after their encounters. Caring about that was just one more complication he didn’t have time for right now, though.

He had both a victory and a loss to thrash out.

Zayn took a predatory step towards Harry before the pale boy threw up a hand to stop him. He stopped but raised an eyebrow in incredulous question.

Harry tried to smile innocently, but it came out as more of a smirk when he asked “How did you feel?”

Zayn stayed perfectly still, except for his eyes which were roving all over Harry in an evaluative manner which made him momentarily giddily wonder if Zayn ever thought about him when he was alone in his dormitory.

“What do yo-”  
“When I knocked you off your broom. When you hit the ground. When you were lying there, on your back, in front of the whole school, because of me?” Harry interrupted, his voice growing breathier as he clarified his question.

He allowed his head to fall back onto the tiles this time, as he draped himself casually against the back wall of the shower, underneath the static shower head. 

The cut on his scalp didn’t appreciate the sharp contact with the wall, but Harry did – a jolt of pain shot through him, murkier now it had to fight for space with the electricity of anticipation throbbing through his every nerve.

Zayn considered him for a long moment, and for a split second Harry wasn’t sure how this was going to go. Then he was all motion, until Zayn was capturing the surprised boy’s mouth in a fierce kiss as he seized him by the waist on both sides with bruising force on top of bruises he’d already left.

Harry whined pitifully into the kiss, trying all at once to pull away and push deeper.

“How did you...oh, how did you feel?”

When Zayn didn’t answer straight away, Harry’s eyes caught an injury on Zayn’s shoulder he was particularly enamoured with but hadn’t left. A particularly well timed Bludger from his team mate Aston had struck Zayn and left his shoulder with a violet swell that made his mouth water; he would make it his.

As he swooped forward and sank his teeth in, Zayn jumped and seemed propelled into speech out of his moan.

“I felt shit! It was so humiliating, Harry, you knocked me off my fucking broom! And I was flat on my back, winded, I couldn’t even get up. And then I saw you fucking score. I was so angry, I just wanted to...”

Zayn bit his lip, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as Harry pulled away from his shoulder with a slurp – the skin tingling from how hard he had been sucking on the bruise.

“Wanted to what?” Harry whispered, palming his own cock teasingly before lowering his Quidditch trousers ever so slightly.

“Destroy you.” Zayn muttered throatily, and Harry saw something in him snap before he was a blur of movement again.

Harry barely had time to register the rest of Zayn’s clothes flying out of the cubicle before his own Quidditch trousers were yanked down in one go with his underwear, and he was stepping obediently out of them without realising or being asked.

It took the awakening spray of hot water for him to realise his legs were now firmly around Zayn’s waist; his bum registering the tight squeeze of the other’s fingers digging in to hold Harry up, and his back resigning itself to the fact it spent most of its time against walls.

“You know what?” Zayn was murmuring against his lips.  
“What?” Harry all but gasped in reply, already beginning to write under the warm jet and the feeling of Zayn rubbing their cocks ever so slightly together.

Zayn leant right into his ear and spoke so clearly, before taking Harry’s earlobe between his teeth and biting down, hard.  
“You _lost_.”

Harry let out a squeal, and was glad he had a retort as he flushed deeper and Zayn snorted into his ear.  
“I scored four more goals than you did, **and** I stayed on my broom.”

He sabotaged any chance Zayn had of responding by seizing the back of his neck and dragging the darker boy into a burning kiss that spread through his body until he could feel it in the tips of his toes.

Harry’s head was spinning by the time the need to breathe made it necessary to pull away.

Shaking his now soaked curls off of his forehead, Harry growled, tightening his grip around Zayn’s neck and tugging him closer to whisper against his lips.

“Who’s the best chaser in the school now?”

Whatever reaction Harry had been expecting to his taunt, it definitely wasn’t a long, confident finger sliding nimbly up the crease of his backside before pushing inside with ease.

Harry would have guessed that between his lust and the steamy haze of the shower, he was as flushed as it was possible for a human to get before he saw the understanding wash over Zayn’s face with the water.

“Even if you were the best chaser in the school, babe, that would just mean that the best chaser in the school stretches and lubes himself up before the biggest match of the season for one reason: me.”

Harry gasped out loud as he felt another two fingers slide inside him and begin twisting expertly in a way that Zayn knew made him begin mewling in a matter of seconds.  
“Oh, God, Zayn, please.”

“So I take that to be a bit of a win.”  
Zayn’s eyes were burning with pride and desire as he removed his fingers excruciating slowly, before replacing his hand back under Harry’s arse to support the now writhing boy.

Harry bit his lip and regarded Zayn through lidded eyes as he felt the dominant boy line up to enter him. He steadied himself on Zayn’s shoulders, nails scraping on wounds as they rocked unconsciously.

Zayn buried his face in Harry’s neck, sucking and biting as a distraction before he shunted his hips forward with force and no warning.

Harry screamed as the force and heat of the thrust, the situation, the match, the boy inside him hit him all at once; his brain and body overloaded with energy and feeling.

“Was it for me, Harry? Is it all for me?”

Zayn was gasping with want and the exertion of the breakneck pace he had set for himself, slamming into Harry over and over, the boy in question scratching his shoulders to bits as he groaned and sobbed, taking it and demanding more with desperate legs pulling Zayn in further.

“Was it?” He demanded, pressing his forehead against Harry’s and catching a cut there on purpose.

“Ye-yes.”

Harry was panting openly in Zayn’s face now, but his nails were dragging up his back in search of weakness with his left hand and down his chest with the other.

Neither of them had ever accepted a draw.

The relentless pounding on his prostate wasn’t something he could beat, though, and Harry could also hear faint murmurs in his ear of Zayn chanting his name as he felt his orgasm rise up in his chest before the moaned name of his rival spilled out of his mouth.

Zayn drank in the sight of Harry’s spunk splattered up his stomach and chest before the shower began to wash away the evidence of his victory, and felt himself draw that much closer to his own climax.

All Harry could feel was warmth and pleasure as he caught sight of his favourite mark on Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn gasped at the soft, caressing feeling of Harry licking and sucking tenderly on his bruised skin and came at the sight of him pressing lazy, languid kisses to it.

They argued about who had won the day all the way back to the Great Hall for dinner, both of them pressing into their injuries when they thought the other wasn't looking.

Zayn smirked to himself as he pretended he wasn't watching Harry struggle to sit down on a Gryffindor bench - might have to leave it a few days for the rematch, then.


End file.
